


Special

by LHasty



Category: Slender Man Mythos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LHasty/pseuds/LHasty





	Special

This is not how I wanted to spend my life. Don’t let me grow up, get married, and pop out a bunch of kids. I wanted to be something real, something special to someone beyond my parents. I wanted to be some sort of great idea, a footnote in the grand scheme of the world. 

They say you should be careful what you wish for - that when the tide is high and the stars are bright, you better be careful which star you come calling to.

I got exactly what I wanted. I got to be special, alright. I got to be out of the 

ORDINARY

and became more than I could stand. 

It’s day three of this charming feast, this constructed concept of blood and gore. It started late: I had just finished up cramming for the examing, three in the morning. The house was silent the way libraries get, save for the ticking of the clock on my wall and the quiet creak of floorboards being stepped on.

But wait, there’s more: there’s not supposed to be a creaking. It’s just supposed to be me and pages turning, pencils scribbling out notes, over and over, memorizing battlefields wet with blood. That’s what this night was supposed to be like, but then it took a sharp u-turn and started screaming down the highway to Hell. Some part of me now realizes that at least it’s first stop was in my stepbrother’s room, who’s about as useful as tits on a boar.

Now? Now all I hear is the crunching of teeth in a face that has no mouth. I keep wondering how something can eat when…no. No, it’s not teeth that I hear, I don’t suppose, despite how close that thing’s face is to my stepfather’s. Might as well be giving him a soulkiss, at this point. No, what I hear is its fingers. They’re not like my fingers, not like your fingers, these fingers. They’re more like skewers of bone, compound fragments on some Discovery Channel special. Bones that have been broken off to sharp points are now charmingly covered in blood. Let’s not forget the brains, either. That’s important, here.

No matter what I said - screamed, let’s be honest - nothing could turn it’s attention away from my mother. Sure, my stepbrother was a jackass, and my stepfather, while not going to jail, was not winning any awards, either. This morning, though, when it turned it’s attention to my mother? That’s when my metaphorical shit hit the fan. 

I screamed at it. I threw a few things at it. I even tried dragging my mother out of its grasp, but that pretty much did nothing but remind me of how painfully small, weak, and pathetic I am. None of that worked. It’s like I wasn’t even there. The more I thought about that, the more my opinion began to change. ‘I wasn’t even there’ became 'I wasn’t worth noticing’. Some tiny, irrational part of me got pretty pissed at that, let me tell you. It was willing to mind flay my stepbrother, who couldn’t multiply 12 x 12 together, but not me? 

Then, 'I wasn’t worth noticing’ turned into, miraculously, 'it didn’t notice me’. Was that true? Was there something about me, something strange, that meant that it couldn’t see me? They say hunters go for the weakest ones, right? I might’ve been willing to settle on the fact that maybe, sure, Shithead Karl was weaker than me because he had the intelligence of a box of rocks, but….my stepfather was not a small, nor weak man. Nor was Mom - she might’ve been a bit small, but by no means was she weak, physically or mentally.

Yet here we are, me and this monster in a nice black suit, looking all the more like some ridiculously tall Mormon going door to door. Save Mormons have faces and I’m pretty sure they don’t eat brains. Indoctrinate brains, maybe, but eat them? Probably not. I’ve been around the room a dozen times. I can practically sit beside this crouched beast, with it’s long, calcium-white fingers shoved into my mother’s skull, and it’s like I don’t even exist. It’s both terrifying and insulting. Am I cursed, maybe? Because I am the one that has to stand here and watch my family be slaughtered and if that’s not cursed, I don’t know what is. 

All of the mental thinking, however, came to an abrupt end, when the thing pulled its fingers out of my mom’s skull. Let me tell you, there’s a sound that I’ll never forget - the skittering of bone on bone. Finally, though, it turned its gaze on me - which seems strange to say because it didn’t have eyes - but it was looking at me, every scrap of its attention turned on me. 

It was then that I realized why me - why it had eaten them, and not me. Maybe it planted the idea in my head - I don’t know how I knew, I just did.

It wasn’t because I was weak or frail - or because I was the youngest, either. No, it was because I was different, I was special.

And it was saving the best for last.


End file.
